The Princess
by Jilladelphiafanfics
Summary: Being the daughter of Illea, life should be easy for a princess. But I should have known better.
1. Prologue

**_PROLOGUE_**

_I don't know when my story ended._  
_But I know where it began._  
_One night. Just one night set the country on fire._


	2. Chapter 1

Angeles, Illéa

My hair glowed like a glowing fire when I twisted it into thick, bouncy curls that tumbled down from my head, past my shoulders. It was the same shade of fiery red as the queen, as my mother's. I glared into my reflection; every curve, every imperfection, everything.

"Miss Dakota?" Mom's personal maid, Clara, knocked on my door softly. She wore a pleated dress that was a cloudy blue color, the same shade of blue in the sky. Clara's messy blond hair was held up in a messy bun that only looked good on her.

"Yes?" I asked, setting down my curler tentatively so I wouldn't burn my hand. It's happened so many times I lost count. I guess you actually can make a mistake more than once.

"Your family requests you for the Illéa report, immediately," Claire stated.

"WHAT? RIGHT NOW? I thought I had another hour!" I shrieked. Glancing down at myself, I was still in my embarrassing pajama shorts and lilac purple cami. Panicked, I rushed into my huge closet that had enough stuff to open an entire boutique in my own room. I gazed at everything and wondered how do I pull this off in such a short amount of time?

Three point twenty-five minutes later, my maids accompanied me for preparations. I had the dress—a pretty one really, a deep shade of indigo, with the hem reaching to my knees—but I needed the shoes and makeup and accessories and ugh I hated being a princess. But being a true royal meant managing a crisis, and I intend to. I've managed it plenty of times.

I slipped on a nude colored heels—how in the HELL do people walk in these—and stumbled as the maids did my makeup on my way out the door. Luckily, my hair was already presentable. I rushed the maids and they eventually finished.

"Thanks Sarah! Thanks Clara! Thanks Kailee!" I shouted at my maids as I ran off towards the set of the Illéa report.

"Welcome, Illéa, to another report with Gavril!" I could hear Gavril's echo as I dashed towards the sound. I could barely see Mom, Dad, and Adam sitting in plushy velvet seats out there, with bright florescent lights shining on them like stars.

"Hello citizens of Illéa! It's a beautiful day outside, isn't it?"

I glanced at the glass window facing outside.

It was raining.

"So today in the news—" Gavril began.

"Hey—" My voice trailed off as every eye in Illéa was placed upon me.

"Dakota, you're late." Dad's voice was strained, like he was holding back a bolt of fury any minute now.

"I know, I overslept." I coughed out. I had stage fright, so this was a living hell—when the world around you is so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

"You should be more careful, dear." Dad retorted. Mom gave him a glare at the word 'dear'.

"Anyway, ILLÉA WE HAVE ASTONISHING NEWS TO REPORT!" Gavril was filled of so much enthusiasm I think he'll explode and Gavril confetti will be everywhere. I wonder what he's so eager about anyway.

"Your Majesty America, would you be kind enough to do the honors?" Gavril's voice is soft and delicate, like a china glass.

"Oh, well of course," Mom hesitates before standing up to speak. Her posture is superb, and her composure is even more excellent. Her perfect is just standards I'll never live up to. _Was my mom always this calm and collected? _ I wondered.

Mom paused before speaking—as if she was waiting for the entire country to shiver with anticipation. "With the caste system at its weakest point, we, as of the royal court, plan to eradicate the system completely."

My mouth is gaping open. _How could they do such a thing?! _

"Mom!" I blurted. My impulse skills are at an all time low and Adam—my youngest and only brother—is sitting perfectly perfect in his seat. He doesn't seem to care at all about this. Well, we are six years apart anyway. I forgot how eleven years old think, anyway.

"Yes, Lady Dakota? Do you have anything to add?" The entire studio went silent, eerily silent. It scared me a little.

"Just—uh—I bid good luck to those experiencing these difficulties so we can—um—improve regular, mundane life for the citizens of this glorious country—um yeah." I gulped. That sounded horrible. I'll never be as elegant and put together as my mom.

"How will we manage this, Mr. Schreave?" Gavril asks curiously. "Can you spill the details?" Gavril said details pretentiously, like dee-_tails_, putting too much emphasis on the end of the word.

"Well, obviously, we will start at eight. There will be plenty of money set aside to help fund the underprivileged. Then we will go up until four. Any citizen above a Four is able to provide for themselves. By the time the caste system fully deteriorates, everyone in the country of Illéa should go to sleep every night, peacefully, with a full stomach." When Dad finished, the camera men pulled the applause button. The digital people were cheering and celebrating, but I wasn't buying it. None of it.

When the Report finished, I dashed up to Mom and Dad before a bunch of government officials could try to snatch them up into a boring conversation, something about front lines troops or—I don't know—the lack of cinnamon apple scones in the courtiers' lounge.

"What. The. Heck?! The caste system? Really?" I demanded. I didn't realize that I actually cared about that stuff. I usually zoned out with the fancy government talk. Heir or not, I know I won't have to deal with any of that for a few more years.

"Dakota, why are you acting so irrational about it? We've been planning this since before you were even born! We just waited long enough to have the entire plan ready. Your father and I wanted it to be perfect with no problems. To go smoothly." Mom spoke like she was still in front of a camera. "She's so impulsive, I just don't get it." I heard Mom murmured something.

"She gets it from you." Dad mumbled. I wonder if they know I can hear them.

"Shut up! She may look like me—" Mom cut herself off, eyeing my fiery red curls. "but I wasn't like that at all."

"Sure," Dad chuckled. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetie."

"Where are my real parents? What are these aliens?" I raised my eyebrow. Mom and Dad have had their share of gooey, romantic parent moments—and they're disgusting—but I've usually seen them arguing more often than not. I wonder if ruling the country has put a strain on their relationship.

"Nevermind." Mom turned to me. A group of senators requested their presence at a royal meeting, though I could tell she wasn't done talking just yet. "Before I go, Dakota, I want to talk later. We need to talk." Mom kept trying to shake off one of the council men.

"About what? What could we possibly need to talk about that gets you so worried?" I cocked my head to the side in curiosity.

"You," Mom paused, taking a deep breath. "We need to talk about your Selection."

**Author's Note: AHHHH GUYS IT'S BEEN PROBABLY 9 MONTHS SINCE I UPDATED THIS FANFIC WHAT?! I edited all chapters and I'm going to reupload them all, okay? ~ Jill **


	3. Chapter 2

Angeles, Illéa

"Mom!" I shouted, but it was no use. "We don't need to! I won't have a Selection! It's completely unnecessary!" I argued. No, I will not have a selection. I'll have one over my dead body.

"Dakota, you're having one." Mom was being stubborn and insistent right now.

"I'm the first Illéan princess in history to not be shipped away to a foreign arranged marriage! Not a single person alive knows how a girl selection works, Mom, _because it doesn't exist,_" I claimed.

"I'm sure it is similar to your father's, just opposite. Your father and I are perfect together, and we met in a selection. Don't you want the same as us?" Mom asked, narrowing her icy blue eyes at me.

"Yes yes Queen America and King Maxon are the perfect couple of the century, I've heard it all already, Mom."

Mom said nothing, but if I had offended her she sure as hell didn't show it. "And here's something for you." She handed me yellow manila envelopes filled with—what? "The Selection entries from the past month. And since it's an attractive contender this year," She winked at me, in which I couldn't help but grin. "I'm sure you'll have many boys to choose from."

"Really, Mom? You won't try to pick for me?" I asked, and now, the idea of a selection sounds a little less crappy than it did five minutes ago.

"Of course. But—my only exception—I want to choose a few for my own personal favorites. We need thirty-five and since no girls have been a princess in generations we'll need to be one hundred percent sure that this will work in order for the public to be on board with this."

"Mom, the first selection in history to have male contenders? The public will be all over this."

"You know what, you're so right, Dakota." Mom smoothed out the wrinkles on the skirt of her sea foam green dress.

My smile was as bright as the sun. "Thanks, Mom. I'm happy to hear you say that for once." I turn on my heels to leave, but I stop myself. "I know Is said I didn't want your opinion, Mom, but do you have any possible tips for me?"

Mom hesitated, then smirked. "Only one can win, Dakota."

Devon Adams, Joseph Steinfeld, Alexander Clemente, Ryan Kaschak, Wyatt Jones. . . . .all these names fluttered inside my brain. How could I possibly choose? How did they manage this all these generations? If I look at one more selection entry I'll burst.

I sighed and collapsed onto the settee in the Royal Parlor. The stacks of Selection forms created a mini city of paper inside the den. If I pulled as little as one out, this whole paper city would fall.

The thought of burning them all clouded my mind, but I quickly pushed it away. _You, Dakota Lucy Schreave, are not one for arson. Well, not today anyway._

"Need any help?" A voice echoed from across the room. I turned my gaze towards the boy in the doorframe. He was a busboy of some kind, with his apron and washcloth he was holding in his hands. He began to turn around and leave but words fell off my tongue before I could stop them.

"Uh—wait—don't go!" My words were a choppy hurricane as I begged him to stay. Why was I so nervous in front of him? My cheeks were probably a bright red and I felt flushed—he was attractive, _surely, _but he was certainly not my type.

"I'm River." He introduced himself. I could read on his face that River realized who exactly he was talking to, because he knelt down to bow. "Your Majesty, it's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

"Yep, it's me. In the flesh." I say. "It's fine, we're all alone. We don't need formal introductions." I laughed lightheartedly, waving off his rigid stance. River looked too intimidated, I was only the crowned princess of Illéa, there was obviously no reason to be as nervous as he is now.

"What's with the piles of paper?" He gestured towards my little city building up behind me.

"Selection entries. Every. Single. One." I paused between my words for emphasis.

"Wow, that's a lot." His voice sounded almost - intrigued.

"Yeah, so how do I choose thirty-five?" I sighed, collapsing back onto the burgundy red settee.

"Let me help." River suggested. I didn't disagree when he dove into the paper city immediately. Trudging behind him, I laughed and began to replicate the way he observed each entry. Leo Kravitz. . .Derek Blasko. . .Jason Sullivan. . . .ugh they're just so many and I'm gonna scream.

"Here, this one is famous. I swear I've heard of him before." River handed me a pristine, perfectly wrinkle-free form. On there was a name that seemed oddly familiar: Grant Winchester.

"He's a two. Who doesn't know who he is?" I whispered. Twos were notoriously famous figures in Illéa. The country adores their Twos—they all seem shady to me, but that's just me I guess. "Grant. He's stunningly attractive and a Two. His parents are Lisbeth Winchester, the actress and beauty tycoon, and Cole Winchester, the famous politician. They live in Clermont."

"Put him in, he'll be great publicity." River placed his file in 'approved' pile.

Grant was the first one chosen.

One down, thirty-four to go.

Kill me now.

"Thirty-four to go, River." I sighed and scooped up a bunch of files. I read each name, skimming their profiles and glancing at their picture. But I wasn't going to be that shallow girl that chose boys primarily on their appearance.

"Tyler Evans. . . .Austin Castellano. . . .Marcus Jensen. . . ." My voice trailed off. "Put them in."

"You sure?" River raised an eyebrow.

"It's been nearly five hours and I'm functioning only because of my third fully-caffeinated coffee. . . .hell yeah put them in."

"Okay, thirty-five boys for the Selection." River grinned and patted the pile of papers like it was a fluffy dog. My smile reached my eyes, we were _done_! I thought I would be buried alive in selection entries, never would I see the daylight again. But River's hand slipped and all the forms slid out and flew around us like paper snow. It took all of me not to wring his neck.

"Dammit, River!" I burst out laughing, suppressing the urge to cry at the same time.

"Hello Illéa!" Gavril's voice boomed against the mic. He was a boisterous one, that Gavril. He's been reporting for the Illéa Report for as long as I could remember. Gavril reported for my grandparents, I can't begin to imagine how old is he is. "Welcome to the Report you've been waiting eighteen years for!"

"Seventeen," I corrected. I was proud of myself for pointing it out, but Mom and Dad just gave me a reprimanding look.

"Ah yes, my mistakes." Gavril apologized. "So anyway," Gavril sure knows how to direct attention away from himself. "THE SELECTION OF A LEGEND! It's—what?—the first selection in _history _to have boys as the selectioners? We've been waiting years for this!"

"Let's begin then, Gavril," Dad looked irritated how much Gavril was stalling from announcing the selectioners.

"Right, yes, Your Majesty. So, the boys this year are: David Rachelson. . .Victor Kosco. . .Elliot Finley. . .Jason Sullivan. . .Jeffrey Huggins. . ." I could practically see the families across the television screens jumping up from their seats and give a toast to their sons. But I could see those in their living room seats pursing their lips, disappointed to not be chosen.

I replaced the frown on my face and turned it to a grin, a fake one but I wasn't that excited. River chose half of those anyway. I saw so many I can't remember a single name.

". . .Benny Turner. . .Devon Adams. . .Grant Winchester?" Gavril looked genuinely astonished to see his name. "Well folks, that's the thirty-five boys! Congrats to our selectioners! We will see you boys tomorrow! Goodnight Illéa!" Gavril waved bye until the cameramen called 'cut'. I slouched in my seat after an eternity of pretending to manage perfect royal level posture.

"Why so sad , dear?" Dad sighed. Mom gave him a glare at 'dear'. "You have thirty-five great boys to choose from now."

"Yeah, I guess," I sighed and excused myself from the studio.

I ran and ran and ran until I went far into a room I didn't think existed. But even in this foreign room, I recognized a face I'd remember for the rest of my life: River.

"River!" I called. My voice echoed in the marble corridor. He gave a glance and trudged over.

"Hey, Dakota." He held his hand in his brown hair. River looked incredibly nervous to be talking to me—as if we were simply friends and I wasn't technically his boss—but I found it endearing. "What's wrong? Every one in Illéa saw the Report." _God_, I thought, _am I that easy to see through? _

"So many people, so many boys. Many of them are here for their families. My mom was. She didn't even join the Selection to marry the prince! Many just want the power; the money. I can't deal with gold diggers, River."

"That's what is worrying you?" River asked dubiously.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "It's a lot of pressure. But can you do me a favor?"

"Yeah, Dakota, anything." River's grin sent a bolt of happiness down my spine. I met him yesterday but why do I trust him so much?

"I want you to be my Royal Selection Advisor. You can help me choose who to leave—and who stays—and—" Before I could finish my rambling on, River held his hand on my mouth to hush me.

"Of course Dakota." For moment, it was completely quiet. It was one of those awkward silences, as if you were left in a room alone with someone you just met a few minutes ago. The image of River popped up in my head of him leaning into me to bring his lips to mine—

I mentally slapped myself for thinking such a thought. But as he eased closer to me, I hesitated. Then I widened my eyes and rushed out of there.

"Uh—thanks River!—See you tomorrow—we can—uh—decide who leaves first—I just—" I forced my mouth shut before it could embarrass me any further. "Bye, River." I gave him a soldier salute and dashed out of the room.

Phew, that was close one.


	4. Chapter 3

Angeles, Illéa

My palms were sweating as I stood inside the luxurious foyer of the palace. I was nervous—hell I was even terrified—for my Selection. How would I handle this? There'll will be thirty-five boys and my mom went through the same thing, she had to watch the disappointment and arguments and drama and loyalties set aside over the crown. Plus, I was only seventeen. Why should I be so concerned about marriage right now, anyway?

It didn't matter though, I still held my hands together as boys stepped inside, making their grand entrances. My immediate thoughts were how attractive the occasion boy was, but nothing else. Not love at first sights moments I grew up learning about in stories. That's all they are—stories. Just fictional things that can't happen in real life.

When I chose these contenders with River, they were just names on paper and a caste number tacked to them. Nothing else. Let's see if there's a person underneath those numbers.

The boy I vaguely remember as Grant Winchester—a Two of class and sophistication—materialized and I heard cheers erupting from the crowds. _I wonder who the favorite is, _I laughed inside my head. Glaring in his direction, I decided that I wanted to see what he really is behind that pretty rich-boy exterior.

Let the Selection begin.

SELECTION #5 INTERVIEWS - Angeles, Illéa

BOY #1: Devon Adams  
Me: Are you prepared?  
Devon: I guess so.  
River: You don't sound so sure, Dakota, I think he's—  
Me: Calm down, River, God. . .so Devon. . .um, *glances at clipboard containing appropriate selection questions* why did you decide to enter the Selection? God, sorry, that's so cliche.  
Devon: No, no you're fine, Your Majesty. Well, there's not much to say. I'm a Four. My parents are farmers and I just don't fit in there. I can't stand barns and farms, ya feel me? I don't want to live there anymore just, ugh no. . .  
River: Get out, now.  
Me: Dammit, River! Ugh, sorry, this is my first interview and I didn't practice I figured I could wing it and I'm making run-on sentences sorry.  
Devon: Yeah, you may be cute but you're way too awkward.  
Me: Get out.  
River: I told you.  
Devon: *Stands up and rolls his eyes*

some time later. . . .

BOY #7: Austin Castellano  
Me: So, Austin *I mastered the art of composure and lost my awkwardness hell yes*  
River: *whispers* I don't like him already, he's wearing a fedora what a pretentious little—  
Me: *elbows River in the stomach*  
Austin: So?. . .questions?  
Me: What caste are you from? And Province?  
Austin: I'm a three from Kent.  
Me: Isn't there a feuding war there?  
Austin: Yeah, some people are evacuating but it's not even that bad.  
River: Not sure how I feel about you. . .  
Me: Stay out of this. *turns to Austin* So, any notes about the war?  
River: Maybe he knows nothing.  
Me: SHH he can speak for himself.  
Austin: It's nothing to get worked up about, seriously, I swear. I shouldn't even be talking about it anyway.  
Me: Are all boys this dense?  
River: Well I think he can take his nothing and shove it up his—  
Me: HEY NO profanity in the interview room!  
Austin: Are sure this is even an interview? Like, asking me hobbies and interests? Why is that guy here anyway? He isn't supposed to be—  
River: *stands up* I'm done, Dakota, get him out.  
Me: Hey, there's still ten seconds before the initial five minutes of interview is up. . .hey look there ya go, leave.  
Austin: *doesn't look back*

BOY #16: Leonardo Kravitz  
DMe: Caste? *tries to contain composure over the stunningly attractive boy*  
Leo: Five.  
Me: Oh like my mom—uh—the queen-majesty-highness-person-thing. . .  
River: She's obviously torn by your good looks. . .so. . .you got some kind of criminal record or something?  
Me: RIVER!  
Leo: I don't have any kind of—  
River: We can play good cop bad cop but I can't guarantee good cop.  
Me: Anywayyyyyy. . .you're pretty. . .*dammit, Dakota, you're as deep as a bird bath*  
River: I'll try normal, average, questions. . .so, you got hobbies?  
Leo: I'm named for Leonardo da Vinci.  
River: Was he the navigator or cardiologist?  
Me: *facepalm* Neither, River, don't you ever study your history?  
River: No, I had to learn to do chores, I'm a seven remember?  
Leo: Okay so this is getting nowhere.  
Me: He's like that in every interview. I have no idea why.  
River: Well screw you both. . .  
Leo: *snickers*  
Me: What's so funny?  
Me: We've been in here for three minutes and all I know is your caste, name is Leonardo, and something about art I guess.  
Leo: Basically. Fives are average. I have four other siblings; one is Melody, one is Gia, one is Emmy, and my brother is Michael.  
Me: Like Michelangelo?  
Leo: Yup.  
Me: Yeah, my aunt May is actually an artist, so is my other uncle Gerad. . .  
Leo: Time's up.  
Me: Oh yeah the timer. Good time talking, bye Leonardo!  
Leo: Please don't call me by my first name.

BOY #18: Nathan Matthews  
Nathan: Hello, I'm uh—Nathan—but uh you can call me. . .Nathan.  
River: *opens mouth*  
Me: *places my hand on top to stop him*  
Me: When you speak it lowers the IQ of the entire room, River.  
River: Mhmm rgh htt mmg, Dkta.  
Me: yeah yeah, lovely weather we're having, so Nate, what's you caste? Your home province? What do you do as a part of your caste? Siblings? Age?  
Nate: *hesitates* Um, Three. Carolina. I'm going into the biology field. Only child. I'm eighteen.  
River: He's older than you.  
Me: Really now? *rolls eyes* I didn't know. Nate you sound utterly fascinating. It's been half a minute but what else?  
Nate: I'm pretty uninteresting.  
River: Yeah you sorta are—  
Me: Riverrrr—Nate, you're great. Holy eff, that rhymed!  
River: Congrats, Dakota, you understand the basic of words. When is this over? I want lunch.  
Me: Calm down you'll get lunch.  
Nate: Do you have anymore questions?  
Me: *glances at clipboard full of orthodox questions* How about. . .what inspired you to join the Selection?  
Nate: Well. . .my father lost his job as an English professor and my mother decided, why not? She was quite optimistic for her own good but there she was so here I am.  
Me: Fascinating. . . plans if you become king?  
Nate: The caste system stays. It contains order and serenity.  
Me: *sighs* I guess it does.  
River: Dakota are you fuc—  
Me: *covers his mouth again* No profanity, River.  
River: mhmmm ghbm dmn  
Dakota: Nevermind him. . .bye Nate!  
Nate: Forgot there was a time, you're such a sweetheart. Thank you for your time, Your Majesty.  
Dakota: Call me Dakota, I hate formal titles.

BOY #31: Grant Winchester  
Me: Oh look, it's Grant—WAKE UP RIVER! *slaps him*  
River: WhaT—  
Me: Was it really necessary to sleep right now?  
Grant: I see you have your hands full should I come back another time—?  
Me: NO! I mean, no, Winchester. I am free. Just let us begin. *I try to examine Grant in a subtle fashion*  
Grant: So, like what you see? *cocky grin*  
River: You can take your pretty boy and shove it up your—  
Me: Do I need a frying pan I WILL not hesitate to knock you out.  
Grant: And I'll help too.  
Me: I'm stalling again, aren't I?. . .Grant. I know you're mother is an actress and beauty extraordinaire; while you're father is a notorious politician from Clermont. Am I correct?  
Grant: Yes.  
Me: You're a Two, born in Clermont, and you're an only child. You are a model *I glance at his incredible features, hot damn*, and you are close to having an acting career?  
Grant: *cue laugh* I think you know more about me than I do of myself.  
Me: When you're the heiress, you get things. *I say casually but there's really a subtle threat behind it*  
Grant: Damn straight, which is why I want the crown.  
Me: Why did you join the Selection?  
Grant: We Winchesters know power and fame. Why not spread our fame through the rest of Illéa?  
Me: Very well then. Um, hobbies?  
Grant: I don't think I should tell you.  
Me: *I'm failing this composure thing help* and why. . . .not?  
Grant: It doesn't matter really. . .  
Grant: Would you consider going on a date with me? Tomorrow, or the day after.  
Me: I—uh—Grant—I'm not—maybe—I have no experience—what?  
Grant: I take it you're not experienced with boys? How could that be?  
Me: The foreign princes are a bore, only talking about their fifth trophy in polo or measles. And do _you_ see teenage, hormonal boys are just crawling around the palace?  
Grant: They are now.  
Me: You're infuriating.  
Grant: You're attractive.  
Me: Playing this game, aren't we? Sorry I'm no man's pawn.  
Grant: It's flirting, dear, learn it.  
Me: Please, I know everything I need to know about you and your shallow wooing laws.  
Grant: 'Shallow wooing laws'?  
Me: Yes. You think you can get every girl but you only want the girl you can't have, me.  
Grant: Who's the cocky one now, sweetheart?  
Me: And I thought I was the only princess in the room.  
River: God you two are about to trigger my gagging reflexes shut the hell up already—  
Me: You're done River go, get.  
River: No! We have like three or four more left and you've been bickering with Grant for twenty minutes when each interview is supposed to be five minutes long—  
Me: So? *oh god I forgot that was this boy really that intriguing?*  
Me: *turns to Grant* I'll figure you out, pretty boy.  
Grant: I'd like to see you try, princess.


	5. Chapter 4

Angeles, Illea

"Well don't you look snazzy," Grant smirked as I walked into the parlor. He stood in a full-on tux, with those ridiculously huge black shoes I've always seen Dad wear to make Mom and I laugh. I guess Grant was trying to flaunt his wealth around. Perks of being a Two, huh.

"Same goes for yourself." I replied. Glancing down to check my outfit, my maid Cleo had chosen this mint colored sparkly dress that reached just below my knees. Pretty, but discreet. I didn't expect too much from this date. Actually, I didn't know what to expect. I heard that Grant Winchester is quite the playboy in Clermont.

"Why thank you. Now, shall we get this started?"

Did he really just say shall? Is this the 19th century?

Once we were seated at this little table decorated with pearls and silky tablecloth, Grant grabbed the Champagne from underneath the table.

"Whoa, I'm underage." I raised my eyebrow.

"As I." Was all Grant said in reply.

"You know, I was obliged to accept this date, right?" I blurted out.

"I know." He murmured, as if I could hear traces of a sigh in there.

The atmosphere turned to a quiet aura as the date continued on; only asking one another if we wanted more tea or those scone pastries I absolutely love, I got fairly bored by the first hour passing.

"So, do you know anything about the war in the provinces?" Grant eventually said. I sat there in my chair, stunned. I figured that he as some pretty boy who had no faint interest in politics.

"Yes, but next to nothing. It's some huge secret here in the palace. We have this invisible barrier between me and the people. I'm prohibited from knowing political knowledge at all. I can't understand why though." I rolled my eyes.

"The princess must believe that ignorance is bliss." He held this solid expression.

"If I'm queen, I can't be uninformed from the public."

"I understand completely." Grant genuinely nodded, breathing in all my words.

"What do you mean?" I asked, curiously. What could Mr. Perfect be possibly talking about?

"When my mother's movie received all but positive ratings and reviews, as well as my father's move he directed, well, my family had to struggle for a few months until we could hop back on our feet. It took a while, but we got plenty of support. . .and hatred, obviously. Since I joked at for being a pretty little rich boy who couldn't handle himself."

For a moment, I sat there, completely stunned. What could I possibly say to that?

"Growing up as the privileged has its perks and its disadvantages, I guess." I sighed. A part of me wanted to believe that Grant was some perfect pretty boy who got anything he wanted. But - I was a princess - I couldn't throw stones when I lived in this glass palace.

"Yes."

I spun the thin, purplish-red wine in my skinny glass. "You know how you asked about the country and its imminent war?" I whispered.

"Yeah, why?" Grant's voice was lowered as well as mine.

"What do you know?" I asked.

"I can't tell you, except that it's escalating. . .really fast, it won't be any longer." Grant said vaguely.

"What? Why don't my parents know anything?"

"They're ignorant of it too."

"My parents have been planning on eliminating the castes for the last twenty years. . .why is everyone against that? Gregory Illea screwed over everyone by planting the caste system, and he only created the Selection to distract everyone from the new government that people rebelled and warred over!" I blurted out. Now, I was out of my chair, pacing around in circles.

"You really think that? About Gregory, I mean?" Grant abruptly paused. "The system keeps order, we can all agree on that, right?"

"No," I hesitated. "It doesn't. Illea used to have these rebels that inhabited the area - the Northerners and the Southerners. The constantly invaded the palace, pillaged our things, and killed innocent. I can't and I won't have that as I reign." I stood up tall, taking in every word I said. I didn't know where the words came from, but they weren't mine. Those words didn't belong to a peerless princess, they belonged to a queen.

"Well guess what," Grant waited for me to physically calm down. I had ignited inside and I wasn't going to calm down now. "the caste system keeps and maintains peace and harmony. It has for centuries. It should stay that way. My mother showed me how she grew up in a factory, as a Four, and she still has every scar and mark from her misery. She married well, my dad was a born two, and grew the courage to follow her dream as an actress. But she always looked up to her idol, Celeste Newsome." Grant's words wavered through the air.

You think you can win me over by telling me these sob stories?" I clenched my fists together. What a joke, I thought, I could actually grow to like this boy! But no, he believes that you can win the public over with a few sob stories that may or may not be true! Oh hell no.

"I'm done with you! Maybe our paths will cross once again, Grant Winchester, but I sure as hell hope not." I snatched my windbreaker coat from my chair, and dashed out, letting the door slam behind me.

~

The forest was bitterly cold, with the country on the brink of autumn, but I didn't care one bit. My insides were burning hot with embers of anger from my date with Mr. Winchester. It wasn't worth it at all, the entire date was concocted just to announce to the public that the peerless Dakota Schreave was on a date with the notorious Selection contender, Grant Winchester of Clermont.

I'd continue ranting, but I've said all that I've needed to say, and me rambling on would just bore you.

As I trekked the ominous woods outside the palace, I looked at the castle from afar. It was quite spectacular actually, the way it lit up like a Christmas tree in the sky. Lucky for me, Mom had told me stories about Christmas, and now it was an annual holiday celebrated in the palace. We dress up in golds, reds, and greens while drinking cocoa and dancing to music played by Fives.

But I didn't have a moment to dwell on the palace holidays because a figure crept out of the shadows. At first I couldn't distinguish the figure, but I could eventually tell it was a girl, about my age, approximately fifteen I'm assuming.

"Who are you?. . ." I whispered, but I kept a straight face. I have no idea what or who they want so I should just run back to the palace.

"I'm no one," she said, her words echoing through the dense forest. "but trust me, Miss Dakota, there is a war coming, and it'll be all but pleasant." Her voice, the way she said it, sent a chill down my spine.

"Why should I believe you?"

"You'll be a big piece in the war, sweetie." She glanced in my direction. I could hear the birds chirping, their consistent sound cooing through the woods inside.

"But why?" I asked, peering over the bushes to try to find the enigmatic person with that voice.

"You'll know soon, Dakota."

I heard the distant rustle of recently fallen leaves and the birds still chirping. How could she leave me full of questions? She's probably full of bullshit, anyway.

But throughout our entire mysterious conversation, only one line echoed in my brain, repeating over and over again.

_You'll be a big piece in the war, sweetie. _


	6. Chapter 5

Angeles, Illéa

"We're rolling," The camera man—his name is Cal or Carlos or Caravan I don't know and don't care—announced. I was twiddling my fingers in my lap while Mom, Dad, and Adam were calm and relaxed in their velvet chairs. Was I stressing for no reason? I'm only sending home thirteen boys within the first week of the selection.

It really wasn't hard, though. I eliminated those who were rude to me in the interview. I don't deal with cocky and conceited.

Unless your last name is Winchester.

Ugh, he's the last thing I want to think about right now.

Luckily, the camera had begun rolling so I could easily shove the thought of Grant out of my head—the sooner the better.

"Welcome Illéa! I hope you all had another great day!" Gavril sounded a little too enthusiastic today. Wait, scratch that, he's always like that. "Princess Dakota's selection is officially under commence and we're excited to hear all about it. . .Lady Dakota? Any thoughts?" Gavril turned to face me.

My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest and suddenly I was wondering if the entire country of Illéa could hear it. "Gavril, it is great to be here with you. And yes, the selection is well under way. I'm super duper excited to share the details."

_Super duper?_ I groaned inside. _Why did I say that? God, Koty, you're a mess on national television. _

"—yes, Gavril, my selection was a lot different compared to Dakota's." I was too busy mentally slapping myself from my awkwardness that I didn't realize Mom was talking. She went on and on about her selection—greatest moment of her life, she didn't want to marry the prince, only came for the food and family compensation, blah blah blah. Same old story she tells on tv every year.

"She's the first girl in Illéa history to not be shipped away to a foreign marriage," Gavril began._ What else is new?_ I thought bitterly. "Lady America, King Maxon, what made you two change your mind about the rules of our customs and laws?"

I watched my parents pause at his words. They knew whatever they said next could and would be held against them.

Dad was the first to speak. "Well, it would be a shame if our only daughter was stripped of being ruler just because she doesn't. . ._have the same body parts_ as Prince Adam, don't you think?" Cue audience laugh. "We're only restoring the power to the way it rightfully belongs." Dad grinned right after, looking so proud of himself.

"Nicely said, Dad," I whispered, leaning into him.

"Thank you dear," He murmured back.

"Ooh, better watch it, Dad, or Mom will get upset you're using terms of endearment without her in on it," I scolded.

Dad let out a lighthearted laugh. "Dakota, your mom hates when I call her dear, I'm sure you've heard her enough for the last seventeen years, haven't you?"

"You guys done?" Adam mumbled.

"Shut up, Adam," He's just jealous my relationship with Dad has been stronger than his.

"Hey kids, I didn't raise you to be rude."

"Yeah, he's right," I say. "Mom did."

Okay, so all three of us started laughing, much to Mom's discontent. I glanced over and finally noticed that she and Gavril were staring daggers at us, both holding a raised eyebrow on their faces.

"Are you bunch done?" She asked.

Adam and I mumbled 'yes' under our breath as if I was in elementary school again, apologizing to my private teacher for refusing to learn math. I really put up a fight back then. I was seriously intent on not learning it, too. Even now, I'm better than I used to be, but I still avoid it as much as I can.

"So, back to your selection, Lady Dakota. How many boys have been eliminated so far? Have you at all?" Gavril asked curiously.

I didn't hesitate. There was no reason to lie. I'm good at lying the same way I'm good at math. "Thirteen boys, Gavril, Thirteen."

"That's quite a handful, and it's only been a few days!" He exclaimed.

Behind us, a screen projected all twenty-two remaining selectioners. Gavril pointed out the country's fan favorite, whose name was oddly familiar but not enough for my head to match a face to the name.

"Well it's definitely been a great start to the selection, don't ya think?" He turned to me. "What do you have in store for us viewers? We'd love to hear it."

"Since the interviews are over, I'm move on to meeting the remaining boys personally. I'm sure they're nice young men," I winced. It wasn't until the words slipped from my mouth that I realized how much I sounded like an old woman talking about the boys who mow her lawn.

"Oh you've already met one of the boys personally, Lady Dakota, haven't you?" Gavril winked at me. _What is he talking about? _

"Come again?" I asked, cocking my head to the side.

"Grant Winchester. The Two. Didn't you attend a date with him a night or two ago? How was that?"

"Well, Gavril you see it wasn't—and I aren't—it was nothing I swear—" When it came to this stuff I was completely useless. Grant was infuriating and I would like to never speak of that date ever again.

"Do you know English, Koty?" Adam whispered in my ear. It took all of me not to slap him right then and there.

"I think there is far more fascinating things to talk about besides my love life. Mom—" At the sound of her name, Mom jerked her head at me, startled, glaring at me but held enough innocence to pretend she had no clue what I was talking about. "You never explained what is happening in the provinces." I playfully elbowed my Dad in the stomach. "Is there going to be a war or—?"

"DAKOTA!" Mom shouted. She sucked in a breath and regained her composure. She is a perfect queen, after all. "We will not leak the details from the provinces, it is their own discretion and privacy. It must stay that way."

I cringed at her words and slumped in my seat: two things I was reminded by Silvia to never do on national television.

"Yes, it is true there has been several riots in the lower provinces, Lady Dakota. It's been going on for a while, too." Gavril's words hooked me in like a fish to bait. "I can't share too much information, my apologies, Lady Dakota. But, trust me, no one wants to hear about that. We all, and surely I mean _all_, want to know more about your date with the Winchester boy."

I took a huge breath. Then I bent over and chugged a quarter of the water in my glass. It was room temperature, it was disgusting.

If it meant stalling from answering Gavril's question, drinking room temperature water is a risk I'm willing to take.

"Gavril, the date went rather. . .awry. . .I must say, and I would prefer not to speak of it ever again," I explained.

"Could you expand on that, Lady Dakota? What in particular was the problem?" At his question, Mom and Dad looked as curious as Gavril. It probably killed Mom and Dad to know that I didn't tell them about my date.

Or that freaky rebel girl in the woods.

Some secrets belong inside our heads and nowhere else.

"Well, Gavril, Grant and I. . . .we have a very. . . .um," I trailed off. Being honest and being fair was the hardest thing about the media. "We share very different opinions about things."

I figured I was done with this Illéa report and we could all go home. What I really wanted was to kick off these blistering shoes—ugh, how do people survive wearing high heels all the time?—and curl up in my room with a book, but I glanced around and everyone in the studio looked unconvinced. Obviously they weren't gonna drop the subject so easily.

"Is that so?" Gavril raised an eyebrow.

"Yep," I tell him, "Affirmative."

"If the date went so bad, why is he still here?" Gavril asked the million dollar question.

_Well, shit. I have no answer to that._

"Gavril—" I started to say. But a soft, moisturized hand was clamped over my mouth before I could make a fool of myself—again.

"Gavril," It was Mom. "I think that's enough. Leave the poor girl alone," She sat back down into her velvet chair and I mouthed: _Thank you, Mom _in her direction. She nodded, only mouthing _No problem, sweetie_ back at me.

"If you say so, Lady America. I guess that's all we have for today, folks." He reported. "Have a nice evening and goodnight, Illéa—" Before Gavril could finish his words, a rush of black exploded through the studio. There was a scream, and another. . .and another. My ears were burdened with the sound of chairs crashing, glass shattering, and people shouting and shoving me.

_What's going on?_

* * *

I was stumbling my way through the chaos, my eyesight blocked fogged up so I couldn't see a thing. A perfect princess would have checked to make sure her family was alright, but I ran out on them by instinct. God, I'm such a failure at being a decent princess.

I crawled endlessly until I found a hallway not shrouded in mayhem, blood, guards, and rebels. It was a periwinkle blue color hallway, with a golden side table. I must have dragged myself pretty far because this part of the palace is completely unfamiliar to me.

But the dizziness finally hit—me it hit me like a bus—and I finally collapsed to the ground. I had enough energy to laugh. A part of me was convinced I was about to die. There was no one around to help me, as far as I know, anyway.

A hand grasped my arm. I looked up to see a boy, an oddly familiar one, staring down at me with twinkling eyes. "Need some help?"

"What the he—"

He hoisted me up and threw me over his back. It was uncomfortable, but I doubt I could stand, so nevermind walk.

I said nothing. He said nothing. It was a pretty good five minutes. Or twenty. Or fifty. I'm really bad at time.

We reached a door down plenty of hallways and corridors that went on forever. I've been around the palace more today than I have the last seventeen years of my life.

The boy plopped me down and I lost my balance, falling instantly to the floor. "Aw, shit, sorry Princess."

"That's. . .alright," I assured him, the world spinning in circles around me. "I can take it from here."

"I don't think I should—" He began.

"No, I'm. . .good."

"Alright, Lady Dakota." The boy unlocked the door and I slipped inside. It was crowded in darkness, lit by only a few candles flickering their golden light through the room. Where was I?

"Hello," A voice said. It made me jump a little I guess—I wasn't expecting anyone to be here.

I turned to where the voice, a boyish voice, was coming from. My eyes needed a moment to adjust, and when it did the boy in front of me was no longer a blurry image.

"Schreave? Is that you?"

"I think we should stick to our respected titles," I suggested.

"You think it matters? No one else is here."

"I am not blind, I can see." Okay so maybe that was a half truth. I still felt like doubling over at any moment. Maybe the sight of blood and massacre was too much for me, I'm not used to seeing that stuff firsthand.

"Oh, Schreave, charming as usual."

"You're as charming as pile of dirty socks." I retorted.

"Well, until the rebel attack passes, you're—" He jabbed his stick finger into my chest. "—stuck with this charming pile of dirty socks."

I gulped. "_Rebel attack?_"

**Author's Note: AHHH HAPPY #TheHeir day! If you didn't know, the fourth book in the Selection series is finally out and I'm so excited to read it, even though I won't be getting it for another two days :( Oh well it's going to be awesome, I know it **


	7. Chapter 6

Angeles, Illéa

* * *

"Wait wait wait," I repeated over and over again. Grant leaned against the wall, in the dark, sitting on the cold concrete of this storage compartment of the palace. My brain was whirling with possibilities, tossing all logic out the window. "Rebel attack? Okay, so as far as I know, I remember Mom and Dad told me there's the Northerners and the Southerners, well then it must be—"

"Actually no," Grant interrupted. "Those rebel groups dissolved decades ago. We're talking about a new generation of rebels, Dakota. How did you not know that?"

Though I knew he couldn't see me, I crunched my eyebrows together in disgust. "I have bigger, more important things to deal with than extinct rebel groups! And don't you dare talk down to me, _Winchester_. Besides, I highly doubt you know what you're talking about. I can't believe I'm stuck with you, and for God knows how long!" Frustrated, I threw my arms in the air, not even caring how he felt about me in that moment.

"You'd be a great travel companion, I must say," Grant said curtly, releasing a bitter laugh from his mouth.

"If I could see you right now, I'd beat you to a pulp."

"I don't know, Princess. How would the media react to a scandal like that?" Threats. I remember as a child Mom would tell me that threats were the very last thing men resorted to when they have no clever comebacks. She told me to rise above violence, for I am plenty better (and smarter too) than that.

But then again, didn't I just threaten to beat him to a pulp?

It would so be worth it, though.

As time slowly, oh so slowly, passed while drenched in dark, hollow silence—attempting any sort of conversation that didn't involve snarky replies or empty threats was useless—I tried to avoid thinking about when, or _if_, we'll ever be found. I'm horrible at measuring time, but it has to have been hours since the attack. It could have been days, maybe even years, as much as I know, really. Plus, Grant was all but comforting. He never once assured me that my family, or even the selectioners, were alright.

"Dakota? You still alive?" I hear his strangely melodic voice cut its way through the dark. The same voice that gives him so much influence as a Two. _He won't be a Two much longer_, I thought.

"As long as I'm with you," I begin, cringing at how romantic and sappy it sounded, "Yes, sadly."

"If you planned on making a move on me, now's your chance, sweetheart." Grant said, his voice as sweet as honey.

If I had a glass of water in that moment, I promise you that all of it would have ended up on his head.

"You selfish, narcissistic bastard," I tilted my head to the side, grinning so wide it reached my ears. "At least buy me dinner first."

"That didn't work out, remember?"

"You did not even pay for that dinner!" I argued.

"How about you apologize first?" He suggested, sounding easygoing but leaving a trace of something else in his voice.

"For what? What could I _possibly_ apologize for?" Only Grant could make my blood broil, but I had no clue if it was just to rile me up like so or if he really thought he was some kind of gift to the world.

"You hurt me, Dakota," He admitted. I shifted in my seat, for his change into a serious tone made me uncomfortable.

"Just your ego, Winchester. It should be put in its place every now and then. Wouldn't want you too sure of yourself, right?" I chuckled, but I uncomfortably shifted in my seat as if I was treading dangerous waters.

As my hand gingerly felt the ground around me, I found a rubber band sitting by my knees. What luck! It's roasting hot in here. I pulled every strand of my fiery red hair from behind me into the best ponytail I could manage and bundled it all on my right shoulder. I had the urge to check how I looked in a mirror but I quickly pushed it away when I came to the realization no one looks runway-ready when being rescued.

"Ah, Dakota, you're a little late for that."

"Grant, how long is this going to go on?" I asked, breaking the lighthearted feel of the room hugging the atmosphere between us. "I'd rather not throw around sarcasm back and forth for hours."

"What's wrong with it? I like the feel of winning. How else will we pass the time? How about a competition to who could be the snarkiest, too—" He began. But I didn't have the time or patience to listen to him ramble on for hours on end.

"No," I say, running a hand through my hair. "I want out. Now. I swear this storage unit is overheating as we speak." I said this as I used my hand as a pretend fan. Didn't do too much, I must add.

"I feel fine," Grant says. I realize this is the first thing he's told me today that didn't involve mockery or sarcasm.

"Well I'm not you." Okay, so I'm pretty tired and exhausted and sweaty but don't blame me if my comebacks aren't clever or witty right now. "I think I should leave."

Grant was quiet at first, letting the silence settle that his voice startled me back to reality. "Dakota, what do you mean?"

"I should escape. It feels like its been hours. I bet they're looking for us, Grant. I think we should leave—"

At first, there was no reply, like he was considering it. That was soon followed by a curt, "No."

"What do you mean, _no_?" I stood up, nearly banging my head against the ceiling. As I felt a spur of vertigo and black dots danced around in my eyes—I think I got up way too fast—I forgot that the ceiling is probably only 5 and a half feet above the ground. At least I didn't hit my head. Lucky me. Lucky, short me.

"You can't leave. I won't let you." He retorted.

"No, sir, you can't tell me what I can and can't do," _that's my parents job_, is something I bit back before it could escape my mouth. Wouldn't want to make a fool of myself (more than I already have), would we?

"No, Dakota," His voice sounded distant, far away. Immediately, I feel a sly hand wrap around my arm. I jump in my spot and use my available hand to slap him in the dark. I had no idea where he was, so I decided this was a hit or miss situation.

"Ow! What the hell?!"

"Don't scare me like that," I pursed my lips. "How do I know that was you?"

"There's no one else in here, dumbass!" He shouted.

"Watch your mouth, I'm the princess, remember?" I pointed my finger at him.

His grin was wide, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm not afraid of you."

I let out a laugh. I felt his hot breath and realized right then just how close we were. "You will be." Okay, confession, I come off a ton more intimidating than I really am. I felt like a nice but innocent kitten standing next to a brave but dangerous lion.

A plan formed inside my head. A brilliant plan.

"Okay," I admitted, holding up my hands to expose my palms as a sign of defeat. "You win, Grant."

"Great," He said. I hate how easily he accepted victory. It pissed me off. Whatever, I can't get distracted. I got to get out of here, and soon. If I don't, I'll be forced to choose between dying of heat or dying of embarrassment when I take off my clothes in front of Grant. It's getting hotter and hotter by the second, and I really wanna shed this dress.

"You tired?" I asked. Grant yawned so loudly it could have been the Macedonian war cry or something.

"Yeah, kinda." He casually shook it off. "You?"

"Yeah, kinda," I imitated, making him sound like an idiot.

"I do not sound like that," He rolled his eyes.

"Really? I think I was spot-on," I laughed. Another huge yawn erupted from his mouth. I playfully punched him in the stomach with my elbow. "Seriously, go to sleep."

"I don't know, what if we're rescued?"

"It'll suck for the rescue people, but they can carry you." I suggested, hoping he wasn't wondering why I was pushing on the subject so much.

"Whatever," He mumbled, already falling into sleep mode. I watched as his eyes drooped, it was sort of adorable in a way. "Wake me up later."

"Nah, that's too much work."

"You suck, you know that?" It was an insult, but he made it sound warm and sweet (like the chef's brownies. . mmm. . shit, I'm really hungry).

"You should be sleeping, you know that?" I subsequently yawned.

"Why aren't you, then?" Grant asked.

"Shhh," I placed my index finger on his lips, indicating his should _just shut up_ and go to sleep already.

For the first twenty minutes—I'm really bad at judging time, so don't trust me on this one—his eyes would snap open then snap close and repeat over and over and over again. After I had sung a lullaby softly (very, _very_ softly) under my breath and I told him to _go to hell to sleep_, eventually, his eyes closed and stayed closed.

* * *

Now is my chance.

But. . .I'm so tired.

_I need to go. _

_Can't you sleep though, Dakota? Just an hour. Why not try for two? Or three, maybe? _

_No._ I demanded. It was only when I was sleepy that my brain put up these walls between itself and me, fighting until I ceded.

I'll sleep when I'm dead.

Now, time to escape.

My plan, although it sounded impressive, is really just for me to escape while he's asleep. It can't be too hard, right? Maybe I spoke too soon.

Making sure he was 100 percent asleep, I bent down and poked Grant in the cheek. Good, he is asleep. No chance of him waking up before I could leave.

"You could've been a part of my plan," I whispered in his ear. "But you're too stubborn and I had to do this the hard way. Don't freak out too much while I'm gone. Maybe I'll leave the door open so you're present for falling asleep can be an escape hatch." Now I was just thinking out loud. Thank the heavens Grant can't hear a thing, or else he'd think I was crazy.

I stood up from my crouched position and walked to the door. The doorknob was a shiny golden one, with a mini hole in the middle for the key. Bingo.

But, my only problem is, where is the key?

My body dropped to the concrete floor, making a not-so-subtle thump as I landed. It was _loud_. Nervously, I glanced over at Grant to see if he was woken up. Lucky for me, Grant is the heaviest sleeper I've ever known. I bet he could sleep through a tornado.

My hands searched the floor, rummaging around in the dust that years, maybe even decades, have created from neglect. How would I find it in this dark, really dark room where I could barely see my own hand a foot away from me?

The wall. I stood up and searched that too. I was frantic now. I needed to get out.

_What if the guard who brought you here is the one with the key? _I realized.

I swore aloud. This, this is how logic ruins your dreams, children.

_Is there a spare? Is the key hidden somewhere? Isn't leaving a key by a door too obvious? _I was just spurring random possibilities to cope with the denial that I was going to find it and escape.

What I really needed was a flashlight. A lantern, maybe. Just something. Anything. I knew the key was a little gold thing, with a little swirly loop at the opposite end of the part you stuck in the keyhole. The image is what I remember from the guard boy earlier. I was a bit dazed from the attack but at least I saw what the key looked like.

After twenty minutes of unsuccessful searching, I gave up the key plan and gave in to banging on the door. I used each foot, each arm, my entire right side of my body, and any body part, hoping it could break open. I knew it wasn't working, but something will have to give if I attack it for a while.

I remember from my self defense classes that to kick down a door, you used your foot and slam it directly below where the knob is located. I sure a shell hope this works. If not, I'll look like a fool, a failed attempt at escape, a bruised pride, and an awake Grant to deal with. There's a lot at stake here, alright?

I kicked. And kicked. Andddd kicked. Nothing. I wasn't making progress, I was just making noise. I attempted a back kick, and a side one, but still nothing. I had to be patient and that was so not on my agenda today.

As time slowly passed, my right foot ached. _I could use my left, but it's not as strong, it would do as much as my right foot if not less. _I thought, assessing my surroundings a little better this time. I gave up on attacking this in a mature way and took my anger out on the door instead.

"You little sh—this is such bull—I hate being here—why won't this damn door break already—goddammit!" I released a string of longer, more offensive curses after those ones. They didn't break down the door, but it did help me release my bottled anger from since I got in here.

My right foot met the area below the doorknob once again as I forcibly slammed my foot against it. I heard a clicking noise, and each time I hit my foot I felt the door loosen up.

"What?" I mumbled. I was exhausted, but the thought of this door falling down any second sent me into overdrive and soon I was slamming my entire body and kicking with my feet and ah, it felt so _intense_. As if this was some intense cardio lesson they'd teach at some rec center. _Or maybe at a fire safety class. _My thoughts suggested.

During one of the kicks, light flew inside and I knew—_I knew_—this was it. I was free. I considered waking up Grant, but maybe he will on his own.

"What the. . .AH!" I fell and toppled onto the ground, right on top of the door that just fell. I looked up, rubbed my eyes, and saw three faces in masks. They were all mumbling and arguing but I was blinded by the bright lights and the noise was draining me. I felt like my head was going to explode from overload any second.

"Hi sweetie," I heard a girl's voice. An older woman's, too. I struggled and squirmed under her grip, but she just held me tighter. "No no no, don't be like that. Come on, just one second. Then you'll feel fine."

_What the hell?_ The only three words my brain could muster up at the moment. I felt as if my brain was tied to an anchor and I was dropped into the ocean.

The boy sprayed something onto a blue cloth.

Only it wasn't a pretty blue, my favorite color of blue. No, this was a pale baby blue. An ugly blue.

He shoved the cloth against my mouth. The world blurred at the corners, and I was losing consciousness.

What was I talking about again? Something about _blue_?

My eyes played a violent game of resist.

They closed.

They opened.

They closed.

They opened.

They closed.

They stayed close. After that, it didn't take long for me to fade out completely.

* * *

**Author's Note: AH Hi new chapter, ya love it? I've been working on it for more than two hours, bleh my fingers hurt from typing! Hope you love the chapter, I really really enjoyed writing it, too. Grant and Dakota are so adorably funny together XD **

**See you next chapter ! bye lovelies :)**


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